


But, Honestly

by Plebberson



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Character Study, Conflict Resolution, Fluff and Angst, I suppose? it's emotional fluff, M/M, Post-Revolution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 12:47:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15972614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plebberson/pseuds/Plebberson
Summary: And tonight I thank the starsAs I count my lucky scarsFor everything you've given meHank's stubborn and tired, Connor's new to it all. They try their best.





	But, Honestly

Time didn’t feel real those few weeks.  


Days bled into one another as the future became a shaky concept few wanted to mentally manhandle, especially Hank. Processing wasn’t his strong suit; he wasn’t literally built for it, not like Connor was. Hank’s days felt like hot nails before it all unfurled under his hands, the most advanced deviant and revolutionary practically his responsibility (even if he did, at one point, hold a gun to Connor’s head). It was too much to think about, his place in all of it. He should be dead, a part of him scorned. He had prepared for it, taking down and packing his love and want and need in a cardboard box with no bubble wrap, just too ready. It felt gummy, being alive over and over and over again.  


So how did Connor feel? _“I AM ALIVE”_ written in human blood had crossed Hank’s mind more than once, almost domestically, like the thought belonged there. It didn’t. Hank can’t imagine thinking without a soul within him, making decisions just because he was “supposed” to. Except, maybe he could. Depression would suck the sight out of him, his life on a poorly programed autopilot for days at a time.  


Wake up.  


Shower.  


Coffee.  


Feed Sumo.  


Work.  


Work.  


Work.  


Drink.  


Sleep.  


_Drink._  


Except it didn’t get to be that way anymore. Suddenly Connor is in the desk across, in the crime scene, in his fucking house, in his arms in a lone hug in the middle of a deserted city. It all happened too fast. Hank swam in the guilty pleasure of the mere idea of someone even programed to pretend to care about him. But the hug had felt so warm, so close, so tight. It was casual, it was “hello again”, it was “my god you’re here”, it was “now what?”.  


Connor had been talkative and rapid, almost livid with commentary, and then not at all. Weirdly silent and perched on the couch. Yellow spinning: processing, processing, processing. Doing what Hank never did, since all he did was do. No change of clothes; no showers; no breakfast, lunch, or dinner. But Connor was there and breathing and processing, always processing. Staring at Hank and face hardening. Staring at the ceiling and holding onto Sumo like a lifeline, yellow lathing the living room in the deep of night.  


Until Connor finally seemed to approach it. In the cold rain of a Detroit December, Connor turned to Hank and asked, “Why am I still here?”  
Hank stared right back, the TV just noise in the background at this point.  


“Then go.”  


It wasn’t the right thing to say, not at all. Where would Connor go, huh? Where else did he have? That’s the only reason he’s here anyways. Connor just kept staring.  


___“If that’s what you want.”  
_ _ _

___Want, as if that’s something Hank still registers. What does Hank want? Does it matter at this point?  
_ _ _

___Connor’s face was blank, but Hank knew better. Connor was marinated in micro-expressions; in the tenseness of his jaw, in the slight tightness of his mouth, at the way he wouldn’t look Hank in the eye. “That’s not what I meant, by the way.” Connor remarks and stands, more robotic than he’d been in weeks.  
_ _ _

____The door shut and Hank stared at a stain on the carpet.__  
\------ 

___He had been staying with Markus and Simon at Carl’s definitely large enough mansion, it turns out. So Connor did have a place to go. A much nicer, more understanding place. It seemed like a family lived there, not an old suicidal drunk and too much dog hair. It felt like a place Connor deserved to be after everything.  
_ _ _

___So why was Hank here now? What on god’s green Earth gave him the right to stand there in the foyer under the delicate chandelier in a gross old jacket with his gross old hair and ask for Connor. Connor, who was finally wearing something different for a change, whose hair actually began to seem longer and curl more, who seemed to be getting freckles, of all things. Hank wished the floor would swallow him up and spit him out in a pile of bones.  
_ _ _

___The crisp winter sun did wonders on Connor’s curls, taking the stray hairs and lighting them up in a halo around soft skin. But Connor’s face was tight and pained, out of place among the nice old wood and soft fabric of Carl’s living room. Hank hadn’t noticed that Markus, Simon, and even Carl had slipped from the room, leaving Hank to fumble alone. Connor had noticed. He closed his book, old and loved and yellow, and set it on the coffee table. His voice was tense, and Connor absolutely failed at guarding the wave of relief under it all.  
_ _ _

___“Hank.”  
_ _ _

___“Hey.”  
_ _ _

____Hey?_ Hey was all he had? He sighed through his nose and rubbed his knuckle against the inside of his pocket. He felt his face get hot with shame, and part of him wanted to run away and just jump off a building to get rid of all of this. Connor sat patiently, way too patient than Hank thought he deserved, and just stared. He waited and waited, watching Hank work over himself, rolling his jaw and curling his fingers. Connor could scan him, could practically see what emotion Hank was feeling if he really wanted to.  
__ _

___“I don’t know how- how to have someone else in my life. At all.”  
_ _ _

___At this, Connor tilted his head. Hank continued.  
_ _ _

___“I used to have friends and a wife and a kid, and I knew how to talk to them and be someone and do my job and whatever. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”  
_ _ _

___The chair creaked as Connor leaned back and pulled his knees to his chest. He stared pointedly at the couch next to the chair, and Hank obediently sat. Silence ate away at Hank’s insides and he wanted anything for purchase and to hold, and that’s when he noticed Connor’s LED was no longer spinning at the side of his temple. Hank swallowed nothing and felt panic roll his stomach over ice.  
_ _ _

___“I removed it.”  
_ _ _

___Hank nodded dumbly.  
_ _ _

___Silence.  
_ _ _

___“I didn’t say the right thing.” Hank’s voice was quiet, compartmentalized. Connor waited. “I didn’t mean to say that. But, I mean... “ Hank gestured to the entire house. “This seems much better than the alternative, right?”  
_ _ _

___Connor deflated in his chair, staring hard and disappointed right into Hank’s very being. Hank shifted in his seat uncomfortably, breaking the eye contact to stare at a loose thread on the rug. Connor’s silence was deafening and terrifying.  
_ _ _

___“I hate it here.”  
_ _ _

___Hank’s head shot up, brow tight. “The hell do you mean? It’s beautiful h-"  
_ _ _

___“You’re not here.”  
_ _ _

___Hank froze everywhere but his eyebrows, which raised, wrinkling his forehead. Connor didn’t give him time to reply.  
_ _ _

___“You’re not here and I hate it. You’re back at your house and so is Sumo and I’m not and I hate it. But you told me to go away, and I’d do anything you’d say, so I went away.” Connor sat more upright and his voice got louder, genuine anger turning his voice into something Hank thought he had heard during interrogations, but had not. This was real and raw, and Hank’s fault. “I would do anything you say because you’re worth it and you can’t tell me otherwise. So stop trying to.”  
_ _ _

___What the fuck do you say to something that? No one’s really wanted Hank around, and the only person who really did was innocent and dead in the ground too young. Hank chewed the inside of his cheek.  
_ _ _

___“I want to…” Hank started, but didn’t even know what he was beginning to say. Maybe it would be best to shut it all off and let it all out. Hank knows Connor deserves something genuine like that, but Hank was afraid, so afraid. Hank was afraid he’d show Connor emotions he wouldn’t know how to process, emotions that would anger him. He didn’t want to be vulnerable again, not after what it cost him last time.  
_ _ _

___Connor leaned forward, letting his legs down gently. “You want to…?”  
_ _ _

___“I want to know why you wanted to...to stay with me after-” Hank loosely gestures with a hand, “all that.”  
_ _ _

___“All that?”  
_ _ _

___Hank nodded, still unable to look Connor in the eye. At this, Connor went quiet. He was quiet almost too long, Hank’s urge to bolt mounting exponentially, before Connor spoke again.  
_ _ _

___“I wanted to stay with you because it made me happy.”  
_ _ _

___Hank finally gathered it within him to look at Connor--to really look at him--and there wasn’t a single hint of hesitation in that smooth, young face. Connor’s eyebrow twitched up, however, sadness pulling wrinkles into his forehead. “Do I need a better reason? Unless I’m bothering-”  
_ _ _

___“No, you’re not bothering me, Christ.”  
_ _ _

___“Are you sure? Because you seemed to get frustrated when I helped around the house and-”  
_ _ _

___“I just-” Hank raised his hands in a defensive position, deflating into a loose shrug. “I didn’t want you to think you had to do all that. The dishes and whatever. Just so you’d uhh…” Hank scratched the back of his neck and looked at the floor between his shoes. “You don’t have to clean all the time to stay. Or do laundry, stuff like that.”  
_ _ _

___Connor eyed Hank almost warily. “What if I want to?” Connor prodded, hands resting on the armrests to lean his weigh forward in the chair, inquisitive. Hank raised a grey brow. “Do chores?” Connor nodded once sharply and bore holes into Hank’s face with a gaze. “I’ve never done them before,” Connor began, “And I like how it feels. I like the routine. I like…” Connor chewed on his lower lip, an incredibly unnecessary and human gesture. “I like taking care of your stuff.” Hank sat ramrod straight, too cautious to even breathe, like Connor was a doe in a clearing. Connor’s voice got quieter and quieter as he went on, “I like seeing what mugs you use the most and your most frequented shirts…” Connor was staring at his own knee like it was going to cut loose and hit him in the nose. “And sometimes, I like to uh,” Connor unnecessarily cleared his throat. “Sometimes I like to put them on. When you’re gone. At work. They’re comfy and calm me down.”  
_ _ _

___“You getting android jitters?”  
_ _ _

___Connor finally smiled, breathing a laugh into his shoulder, lashes low. “I suppose I am, Lieutenant.” Hank shook his head, this time letting his own little laugh loose. “It’s Hank, Con. Just Hank.”  
_ _ _

___Connor smiled, gentle and genuine this time. “Is this normal?”  
_ _ _

___“Hm?”  
_ _ _

___“Our situation.”  
_ _ _

___“Ah, well-”  
_ _ _

___“Because from research, I’ve found that roommates are a common occurrence even among coworkers, but usually chores are much more split, and I’m not sure of the clothing habits of every pair of roommates-”  
_ _ _

___“Con-”  
_ _ _

___“I know two women roommates tend to share clothing, but perhaps not as comfort clothing?”  
_ _ _

___“Connor-”  
_ _ _

___“And we’re both men, so maybe it’s strange to go smelling your roommate’s clothing-”  
_ _ _

___Connor snapped his mouth shut and widened his eyes. He refused to budge, staring at a corner of the room sitting completely straight and still. Hank stared.  
_ _ _

___“You blush blue?”  
_ _ _

___Connor whipped his head to look to the side, palms coming to his cheeks to cover as much as he could. “I didn’t mean to say that, I deeply apologize.” Connor’s voice was muffled under a palm. He looked so small, curled up into himself with his face hidden. Hank felt himself frown sideways, the silence in the room terribly uncomfortable. With a rough sniff, Hank shifted in his chair to lean forward into Connor’s space. His voice was low, cautious.  
_ _ _

___“Listen, Con. Um.” Hank rolled his knuckles into the palm of the other hand, staring hard at a spot of lint on Connor’s knee. “You don’t have to… there’s not a normal, really.” Connor stayed stock still as Hank continued. “I mean, I’m an old dude who probably needs to go to therapy, you’re a crime android who can vote now, and uh…” Hank scratched his beard. “And Sumo.” At the mere mention of Sumo, Hank watched Connor’s shoulders droop, one hand going to hide his face, the other resting on the arm of the chair. “I don’t know if we’re really that normal in the first place So I mean…” Hank shrugged and raised his head to look Connor in the eyes. Thankfully, Connor looked back, but his eyes were red and wet, synthetic factory-made tears threatening to run down his cheeks. Hank reached a hand out tentatively, palm up. Connor eyed it warily.  
_ _ _

___“Come home maybe? Please? Sumo misses you.”  
_ _ _

___Connor raises a brow skeptically, almost smirking at Hank, who sighs and flaps his hand indignantly. “Yeah yeah I miss you too, whatever.”  
_ _ _

___At this, Connor full on grinned and took Hank’s hand too hard, shaking it with almost childlike vigor. Hank of course grinned back, ignoring the fact that he can feel a tendon roll in the top of his hand. After having his hand nearly ripped off, Hank notices Connor still hadn’t let go. In fact, Hank can swear he feels Connor’s fingers twitch with restraint.  
_ _ _

___“I want to tell you what I meant when I had asked you why I was still at your house.” Hank tensed and there’s no way Connor didn’t notice.  
_ _ _

___“I was asking why you hadn’t asked me to leave at that point.” Connor’s voice was quieter, the statement phrased more like a question. “It seems we have greatly misunderstood one another, yes?” Hank exhaled a breath he didn’t know he was holding, his shoulders popping as his back relaxed. Off of the upstairs balcony, Hank could distantly hear Markus murmuring to an elated Simon._ _ _

**Author's Note:**

> Not the first fic I've written, but the first posted! I don't know how y'all do it, I've got the stress sweats. 
> 
> Mostly wanted to get a feel for how I want to write these two.  
> I also like the idea of Connor changing his appearance because he just likes the way it looks. I mean, we cut our hair and paint our nails, why can't he?  
> And as much as I enjoy angst, I really like the idea of Hank getting therapy more. Maybe my depressed ass is projecting a wee bit, but I really think it's possible for him to decide to go to therapy and maybe let someone in his life in any way. If I can, so can he. Godspeed, Anderson. 
> 
> Title is from a Foo Fighters song.
> 
> PS david cage can eat my entire ass, cheeks and all


End file.
